This Letter
by writ3rsblock
Summary: After the events of Season 7. House needs to say goodbye, even though Cuddy has already gone. T for language...probably.
1. where's wilson

**So, just as a backstory for this fic: In this version, after the events of Season 7... (House crashing his car into Cuddy's home), Cuddy moves to New York with Rachel. And Wilson survives cancer. Reviews and criticism welcome... Enjoy :)**

* * *

Cuddy had just shut the door to Rachel's room, when the doorbell rang. It was 8:00pm in Albany, New York. Who the hell was ringing her doorbell? She checked through the blinds quietly, and what she saw made her heart stop. It was Wilson.

She hadn't seen Wilson in a full year. She hadn't seen Wilson since House drove a car into her diningroom. She hadn't seen Wilson since she resigned from Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. She rushed over, and opened the door. Wilson looked exactly the same as he had when she last saw him. He had thickened out a little bit, but only back to what his normal weight had been before his cancer. Wilson stood there awkwardly, "Hi," he said.

Cuddy was still in a state of shock, "Uh, hi. Is everything..._okay_?"

Wilson breathed in, and then out, "Yeah, everything's fine. How've you been?" Wilson asked; even though he knew very well how she had been. Cuddy called Wilson about once a month, mostly for comfort. Cuddy hadn't made any close friends at her new job, only to fault of her own. Occasionally, Cuddy would put Wilson on the phone, and they wouldn't even talk. Just having someone virtually there, made Cuddy feel less alone.

"I've been...alright. How 'bout you?" Cuddy answered, shifting her weight and leaning against the doorframe.

"Fine," Wilson answered, swallowing hard.

"Um, do you wanna come in? Rachel's sleeping."

"No, that's fine. I have a plane to catch in about an hour."

"Oh, so why are you here?"

"I had a conference in New York City," Wilson said earnestly, and then stared off at a random point to avoid Cuddy's eyes. He continued after a moment, "I flew down here...to visit, I guess. And to give you something." Wilson proceeded to take a white envelope out of his pocket. He handed it to Cuddy.

"This is for you."

"From you?"

"No," Wilson paused for a moment, "From House."

Cuddy felt her knees buckle, and she swear someone had shot a soccerball into her chest. She stood there for a few long moments, not able to speak; just staring at Wilson's outstretched hand.

"What...why?"  
"He asked me to give it to you. I haven't read it. I don't know what it says."

Cuddy cautiously took it from him. She felt like she was holding a bomb in her hand. And she felt tears coming into her eyes.

Wilson took a deep breath, "He said he understands if you don't want to read it. You don't-you don't have to take it," he stammered, "if it's too hard."

"No," Cuddy swallowed, "That's okay. I'll-I'll take it."

Wilson nodded quietly, "Well, I better go."

Cuddy put her arms around Wilson suddenly, "You have a safe trip, okay?"

She promised herself silently she wouldn't cry until she'd shut the door.

She watched Wilson leave in a grey Prius, which was obviously a rental car because Wilson disliked Prius's.

In her kitchen, Cuddy put the letter down onto her island. She stared at it for awhile. _What was she doing? The whole purpose of moving was to help her move on. This was not helping her move on. This was not helping her move on, at all. _

So before she could think anything else about anything, she thew it into the trashcan outside.

Cuddy had developed insomnia since the night House drove a car into her house. Cuddy had developed insomnia since the night she last saw House. And sometimes against her better judgement, she wished House was in bed beside her. Which was completely and utterly stupid.

Cuddy had stopped loving House that day. She was sure that she had stopped loving him. How could she still be in love with him?

She went to bed early, because she couldn't think of anything else she wanted to do. Cuddy lay in bed for five hours, staring at her wall.

Wilson coming to her door had brought back all these memories she had tried so hard to forget. And then there was the letter. She had no idea what was in the letter. House was unpredictable, she knew this.

What could be in there that she didn't already know? That he was sorry? Well no shit, sherlock.

What could be in there that could hurt her more than she already was? Nothing, was her answer.

She bolted downstairs because for some reason she needed to read it right now, in this moment. She ran out to the side of the curb in her nightgown and opened the trashcan, and took out the letter.

Cuddy sat on the side of the curb in the suburbs of New York, in nothing but her nightgown, at 1:00am; and opened up memories. Horrible, wonderful memories.

* * *

**To Be Continued.**


	2. save your tears

**Reviews and criticism not only welcome, but encouraged.. Enjoy :]**

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"You're thinking about Cuddy, aren't you?" Wilson's steady voice brought House out of his thoughts. It was a Monday. Wilson had returned from his conference the previous day.

"What, was my erection that obvious?" House countered, still staring off into space.

"Can I ask you something, House?" Wilson sat down at the chair adjacent to House's office desk. House paused a moment, before putting his gaze on his only real friend in this world.

"Why did you write that letter?" Wilson asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice slightly; since House had threatened the euthanize him in his sleep if he told anyone.

House heaved a breath of air in annoyance, becoming serious. He rubbed his hands over his face, and then looked closely at Wilson, "I crashed a _car_ into her _house_. I don't think Hallmark has a card for that."

Wilson leaned back, scrutinizing the situation. After a few seconds, he came up with his resolve, "You wanted closure."

House pursed his lips, and sat up straighter. "If I agree with you, will you get your pathetic ass out of my office?"

Wilson stood up and retreated back to the doorway of House's office. "Okay, _fine_. I'm sorry," he said as he left. House muttered under his breath, thinking about Cuddy, "Me too."

* * *

_Dr. Lisa Cuddy,_

_I never liked writing letters. But I didn't think an e-mail or phone call was appropriate. I'm trying to write this for _you_, though. Not for me. I'm trying to care for someone else, for once. I'm not claiming to be changed. Prison didn't change me. But I am able to look at things differently, now; look at people and situations differently. It's thanks to you, of course._

_Cuddy, you're an amazing woman. And I can safely say that even if you didn't have the best ass in all of New Jersey (and probably New York), I would still be in love with you. I guess I'll always be in love with you. And I'm sorry for all that I've put you through. It would be a lie for my apology to go along the moronic lines of: _I didn't know what I was thinking that day I drove into your house_. Because I do know what I was thinking, I haven't forgotten. I'm just a dumbass. _

_Cuddy, you are the most incredible woman I've ever known. And until the day I die, you're always gonna be the most incredible woman (with the finest ass) I've ever known._

_Good God, this is a pathetic letter. Wilson must be rubbing off on me (I mean that in a non-sexual way.) But, I did mean what I said about you, and me. It's all true._

_I'm not good at this, so before I screw this up any more than I already have, I'll sign off. If you ever need anything, and you somehow find yourself to trust me, I'll drop whatever I'm doing and limp over. I hope the best for you and Rachel._

_Keep that ass firm,_

_House._

Cuddy stared at his name for a long time. Scrawled but deliberate; the 'H' in careful connection with 'o' and the rest of his name becoming a series of bumps and scratches and loops across the paper. As Cuddy stood up from the curb, she realized that she was crying hysterically.

Inside, she curled up on her couch and lay there; sleepless and clutching the letter in her hand. She honestly didn't know what to make of the letter.

Cuddy sighed loudly, breaking the stiff silence in her livingroom. She thought for awhile.

That bastard could have killed her. That bastard could have killed Rachel. That bastard could have killed Wilson. That _bastard _ruined her house in New Jersey. She loved that house. Rachel grew up in that house.

But Cuddy soon came to realize that, really, she couldn't care less about that house.

All she wanted, was House back.


	3. lonely practice

**Hey, guys! So new chapter...and I guess I'm going to keep this going as long as y'all want me to, so keep reviewing! Just as a reminder and backstory incase you haven't seen all the episodes of House: In Season 5's episode "Under My Skin," Amber Volakis (Wilson's dead girlfriend who was also in applicant for the fellowship positions in Season 4) was in House's hallucinations before he went to rehab for Vicodin abuse. So, other than that... enjoy :)**

* * *

Cuddy was beaten and bruised. House stood over her his former boss, who was now dressed in peasant clothes instead of her tight-fitting blouses and pencil skirts that he was accustomed to seeing her in. She lay sprawled across the driveway in front of her old house, surrendering to starvation and death crossing over her.

"What happened?" House asked, but his words came out jumbled and broken, like a stroke patient trying to speak. Somehow though, Cuddy understood. She responded with perfect clarity, the melody of her voice unscathed and smooth like he remembered, which was very contradictory to her appearance.

"You broke me," she replied curtly. She moaned in pain, and her skin began to darken as the world around them began to brighten. Another Cuddy appeared in her place. A normal one. A beautiful one.

"You did this to me," she snapped at him, "You son of a bitch. You don't care about anyone except yourself..." she was screaming at him. And all House could do was watch her tear him down. "You could have everything," she said. And then she was gone, and all there was was broken Cuddy again, on the ground.

House watched as her hair suddenly became a lion's mane of flames, and suddenly he was closer to her-on his knees, next to her. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He reached out to touch her, and as he did a hospital bed appeared beneath her, and a hospital room appeared around them to match.

The exam room was far too big and empty, and seemed to have a swallowing effect on both of them.

He could feel her pulse in the dank air.

"We've got a pulse! She's okay!" House exclaimed to no one. House sat up and looked around, no one was there. No Cuddy. It was just him. On his couch. In his livingroom. Alone.

* * *

"Come in," Cuddy replied to the persistent knock on her office door.

Dr. Asher walked in and put a file on Cuddy's desk, running his fingers through his streaked blonde hair. "Liver biopsy. Rafferty's gonna do it." He sat down casually on the chair across from Cuddy's desk.

Cuddy cleared her throat and opened the file, scanning over it's content.

"You think it's cancer?" Cuddy asked doubtfully.

"Could be."

Cuddy pursed her lips, and signed on the dotted line. Asher took the file back. He adjusted his lab coat and stood up, "You got anything going on Friday?"

"Yes," Cuddy replied automatically.

Asher bit his lip and awkwardly turned to exit the office, "Oh, nevermind then."

Cuddy sighed and massaged her temples as the door shut. Why did she turn people away like that? Dr. Asher was a perfectly good looking dude; nice and funny. And when he'd met Rachel at the Valentines Day party, he seemed great with kids. Hall Asher was the picket fence guy for her. This was all too déjà-vu.

_Lucas_. God was giving her another Lucas. Had she not ended it with Lucas, none of the crap that had happened with House would have happened. This was her second chance at a husband, maybe. Cuddy stood up, tripping briefly over her heels in her haste, and went after her second chance.

* * *

"Would you _stop_ that?" Masters snapped irritably.

House ripped another sheet off his prescription pad and began fashioning it into an airplane.

"Stop what?" House asked, raising his eyebrows, "If you're referring to me being an ass, then no. I _can't_."

"Any cases?" Foreman asked as he entered.

House made his final folds, "Just the case of Masters waking up on the wrong side of the jungle." He glanced toward the redhead, and gave a quick impersonation of a tiger baring it's teeth.

As Foreman went to sit down, House turned back to his paper airplane. Once the flaps were carefully folded under and over, he contemplated who should be his next victim. Foreman's reaction would be boring and subdued, and he'd already seen Masters flip her little smartass lid enough today. Personally, he was enjoying the bliss of her not talking. So the only other person in the room was Amber. He poked his fingers under the flaps and prepared to throw. And then, he stopped.

He closed his eyes. And opened them. But lone behold, there was Cutthroat Bitch standing there; paging through a medical book.

She looked up when she saw him staring, "Oh, hey. Nice of you to let me back in."

House felt the paper airplane drop out of his grip. "No."

Masters looked up from her book, "What?" she asked, turning in her chair to follow House's gaze. She looked back at House, "What's wrong?"

Giving no response, he stood up, grabbed his cane, and limped to Wilson's office. Amber followed.


	4. down the toilet

**New chapter, finally(: Thank you for all the reviews! I wrote this pretty late, so if there are grammatic or spelling errors...let me knoww. Enjoy!**

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Cuddy wasn't making very good progress moving on.

"This has been nice," Cuddy uttered as politely as possible, giving Asher her best _Dean of Medicine _smile, standing up from the table. Asher stood up as well, returning the smile.

Any onlooker would have thought that their date had gone extremely well; flirtacious small talk, light but intelligent banter...all the essentials of a perfect date. But all Cuddy had wanted to do the entire time, was leave. Maybe puke a little.

It wasn't that Asher was gross.

No, no. He was the opposite of gross. He was tall, dark and handsome. But he was intensely boring for Cuddy.

What made Cuddy want to be sick, was the reality of it all; how pathetic she was. She was trying to convince herself to be attracted to a guy. Was this really better than being single?

Dr. Asher walked her to her car. "This was fun," he gushed, his genuine smile making Cuddy uneasy.

"Yeah, _fun_." Cuddy unlocked her car. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Asher standing there awkwardly, contemplation in his eyes. He was undoubtedly planning his next action: _go in for the kiss, suggest our next date? _She ended his hesitation by getting in her car. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Asher," Cuddy said, quieter than she had intended. Cuddy pulled out, and drove away.

Cuddy realized, that what she had done was unkind. Dr. Hall Asher was a person, and she had been testing him out like a _chew toy_. Asher obviously liked Cuddy, and Cuddy had basically just rejected him. It was her mistake, going on a date because she thought it was her _duty_ to find a good partner.

In Cuddy's peripheral vision, lights of hotels, streetlights, houses', flashed by; becoming fast-moving blurs. As she got onto the highway, she couldn't help wondering why she had done all this. Did Cuddy really think that the outcome of this date would have been any different? Cuddy accelerated onto the freeway, watching the other cars around change lanes, speed up, slow down; flashing signals and bright headlights. New York was different then New Jersey in all too many ways, but some things were just the same.

For the first time that night, Cuddy let her mind wander to House.

She wondered what House was doing this Friday night.

She wondered if House was thinking about her this Friday night.

She wondered why she wasn't with _House_ this Friday night.

* * *

House retched for the fourth time in the past minute into the toilet. Once the regurgitation had left his mouth, he took a few desperate breaths in. He turned to Wilson. "Give. Me. The pills."

"House, you'll get through this," he reassured him.

"No amount of sanity is worth this hell," House argued, wiping his mouth with a towel.

"You'll thank me later," Wilson sighed, picking up one of House's _Playboy _magazines, and leafing through it.

He looked over to Amber, who was sitting on the side of the tub. "You know, Cutthroat Bitch isn't looking that bad. Maybe we should keep her," House's sarcastic tone was dilluded with gasping breaths and chokes. He turned and puked again into the toilet.

Amber crossed her arms, "What if this doesn't get rid of me? Then what do you do?"

House turned back to Amber, wiping his mouth again. "I'll kill myself."

Wilson put the magazine down, "House," he started.

"I wasn't talking to you," House snapped.

Amber laughed maniacally, "So you'll kill _yourself_, just to kill me"

"No," House replied, taking a break in his sentence to throw up again, and then turning back to Amber to argue, "I'll kill myself, to stop the pain."

"Am I not the pain?" Amber asked, looking hurt.

"Don't give yourself too much credit, you're barely half of the sh*t I'm dealing with," House spoke in raspy breaths and his body shook sickly.

Wilson, getting up from his stool by the sink, sauntered over towards where Amber was, "What are you guys talking about?" he wondered aloud to House.

"Your skills in bed," he answered flatly. Wilson laughed, "Well there's a lot to talk about there," Wilson commented, anticipating a critical response from House. He glanced down after a few seconds at the still man hunched over the toilet, "House?"

House looked up, his face going paper-white. He collapsed onto the tile.


	5. little grenades

**Sorry for the long wait; been busy and I can't find inspiration to write anymore (which is why this is so short). I can't find a good place to go with this.  
Your reading and reviewing helps mee :] Thanks & Enjoooy.**

* * *

"Mommy, when is the med'sin gon' start workin'?"

"Soon," Cuddy reassured, lifting Rachel onto the kitchen counter. Rachel blew a juicy cough into her arm. "Why cantchu stay home wif me?" Rachel asked quietly. Cuddy whiped Rachel's mouth and hands with a sanitary wipe carefully.

"I've got work," Cuddy reminded her, tossing the wipe in the trash, and lifted Rachel's shirt over her head. "Emily's gonna be over soon. She'll take good care of you today."

"Don't Emily got work too?" Rachel raised her hands up the air so Cuddy could put a purple 'Gap' sweatshirt on her.

"Nope. Today, _you'll_ be Emily's work."

Rachel adjusted the sweatshirt on herself, and nodded, "Oh."

The phone rang, and in one swift movement Rachel lifted herself down and darted across the livingroom to pick it up.

"_Rachel_," Cuddy said sharply, tossing her old shirt in the hamper and then walking after her. Rachel picked up the cell phone, and immitating her mother, said robotically, "This is Lisa Cuddy speaking."

Cuddy grabbed the phone from her daughter; she glanced the unfamiliar phone number displayed and then put the phone up to her ear. "I'm sorry, if this is a client you need to call my office first and-

"_Cuddy_," the voice made Cuddy's heart twist. The voice on the phone was hard and crestfallen. She sat down on the couch, to keep her knees from giving out first. Cuddy stared across the room, to where the letter was sitting; folded on top of the mantle-_to be dealt with later_.

"Um," Cuddy stuttered on the phone. _I guess we're dealing with this now, _she thought.

"House?" she asked quietly, the name sounding too familiar in her mouth. He said something else then, but all Cuddy could hear were bombshells.


End file.
